A Deathly Tie
by AOB
Summary: Sherlock and John are going to a very formal social, where they'll meet the Queen. Everyone has to wear a formal suit (including a tie). Sherlock is not pleased. Actually, he is rather pissed of...


**Story has been beta'd by Ennui Enigma. You're great, thanks!  
**

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A Deathly Tie

The rainy day was turning into a dark, cloudy night. Sherlock and John were in their flat, getting ready for the Queen's reception at Buckingham Palace. More precisely, John was dressing while Sherlock lounged in his armchair emanating extreme displeasure.

"Come on Sherlock, you should get dressed." John prodded and buttoned up his white shirt.

"I _am_ dressed. Put on my suit hours ago!"

"You don't have a white shirt. And you must wear a tie, too."

"You're kidding! I'll rather die," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, that's been obvious to everyone, since we received the invitation a week ago. Anyway, we are likely to meet the Queen, so..."

"So?"  
"So, you can't go wearing that purple shirt, collar unbuttoned, skin exposed."

"This is my favourite shirt! And besides, the Queen is nothing more than just another predominantly water infiltrated mammalian. She has to shit like all of us!"

"For God's sake, Sherlock..."

"Couldn't I just knot a noose around my neck? Or perhaps a dog's leash? A friend of Mrs Hudson's has a terrier. I could borrow - "

"_Just _find a tie and put it on!" John yelled, his voice and his patience strained.

Baleful silence settled over the room. Sherlock made no effort to extract his inert form from the chair. John drew a deep breath.

"Ok. You can keep the purple shirt. Just wear a tie. Where do you keep them? And don't dare say you haven't any."

"In my drawer. Third box," Sherlock huffed.

John walked resolutely into Sherlock's bedroom and opened the drawer.

"Jesus, how many ties do you have? There must be dozens here!" he cried out.

"Fifty-two. One for the each week of the year", Sherlock muttered so faintly that John could scarcely hear him. "Mycroft's stupid joke. He said I should have them _in case I ever grow up,_ as he put it."

"Damn right..." John said to himself. "Which colour do you want, then?" he asked.

"Blue."

"They're almost all blue, Sherlock!"

"Whatever. Look, John, I really don't care!"

"Let's take the turquoise-one," John grumbled. "Perfect match for when your eyes turn icy, which is most of the time, anyway."

He picked up a lightly patterned tie and hurried back to the main room. He tossed the tie on Sherlock's lap.

"Hurry up. We're late!"

"I want to be late," Sherlock snarled.

John sighed and rolled his eyes. Suprisingly, the cynical consulting detective abruptly stood up. Perhaps, in a moment of weak sentiment, a pity of sorts for John's dilemma overcame him? He picked up the tie and dangled it between his fingers like a disgusting limp and dead slimy worm.

"I don't know how to put this stupid thing on!"

"I'll give you a hand," John said, relieved.

In a moment he had neatly fixed the tie around Sherlock's neck.

"Hold on, I can't breathe!" Sherlock cried in alarm, as John tightened the knot.

"But I seem to remember you saying breathing is boring," John said calmly as he cinched the knot a bit more.

"Hell, are you going to hang me? Which, by the way, would be perfectly fine."

"Shut the hell up now!"

Finally, after a few sweaty minutes, they were ready. Sherlock looked a bit pretentious in his purple shirt and the turquoise tie; but the outfit did mirror his exquisitely blue eyes. John was secretly rather pleased at the final result. Still, seeing Sherlock wearing a tie reminded John about the leash-thing. He kept his imaginations carefully to himself - for now...

"See, it wasn't that bad, was it?" he said satisfied. "Just like you wouldn't chase after a dangerous criminal without a gun, nor would you go to see the Queen without a tie."

"You think of a tie as some kind of weapon?" Sherlock asked, amusement glinting in his eyes.

"If you want to put it that way."

"Why John, that's the best idea you've had in weeks!"

"What?" John looked up, suddenly alarmed.

"Next time I'm bored, I can strangle someone with my tie!" Sherlock proclaimed, much too childishly happy over the suggestion.

"I didn't hear that," John declared. "And it definitely wasn't my idea."

"_Mysterious killing at the Queen's reception. No signs of the murderer,_" Sherlock mumbled.

John ignored the genious child's babblings and grabbed his coat. He glanced at the window. It had started to rain again.

"We should take an umbrella, too." Sherlock said suddenly. "Just in case I need to poke Mycroft in the eye when he remarks about my tie."

"Yeah, whatever."

John walked out of the room and down the stairs. He heard Sherlock trailing close behind on his tracks. Althought John had won the battle this time, he knew the sweet victory was short lived. Every success has its price. He tried to ingore the umbrella that Sherlock snagged on his way by the doorpost. He didn't want to think about it. Not just yet. Not before he really had to.


End file.
